


arsonist

by seijuro



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seijuro/pseuds/seijuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Midorima was a child--the strange boy who was too tall and too awkward for ten years of age, the boy with the crooked cut bangs who could barely tie his laces--his mother asked him to help in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	arsonist

**Author's Note:**

> aa hello first akamidos!! this is basically just a drabble lmao...when will i ever not be gross and write boring purple prose. since there's a high chance my characterization is absolutely awful, any kind of critique would be very helpful!! :x
> 
> tumblr: seijuurouakashi  
> twitter: akanijis

When Midorima was a child--the strange boy who was too tall and too awkward for ten years of age, the boy with the crooked cut bangs who could barely tie his laces--his mother asked him to help in the kitchen. In his household, under his mother’s roof, under his mother’s _rules,_ ten was _plenty_ old enough to help with the load a single mother with two children had to carry on her shoulders. Midorima was a good child, though--never complained, never refused, never did anything he wasn’t told to.

The kitchen was a lot smaller when his sister was scampering around it. He had the oven mittens on, the ones that made his hands itch so bad Midorima squirmed. The handle of the frying pan was firm in his grip and whatever swam in the oil sizzled as he shook it. Obedient, responsible Midorima. A shriek from his sister and all Midorima could remember was the pan slipping before he let out a scream of his own. His skin was red and raw where the oil had left its fingerprints, and they looked like angry bruises. His mother tsk’d and his mother laughed and his mother treated it with the smelly ointment and gentle hands, but she never made him do so much as touch a frying pan (unless it was to wash it, and that was a different horror story altogether) again. If there was anything Midorima remembered from The Incident, it was the silver-sharp burst of pain. Almost like, Midorima thought, someone had lodged a knife right beneath his skin, pressed it to his bone, and yanked it out in the blink of an eye.

And even years later, everything about The Incident played again and again and the spots on his arm that had long since regained their normal colour ached when he looked at Akashi. Even sleeping, Akashi was wildfire wrapped in skin and bone. Akashi’s head was in his lap and it felt a lot heavier than it actually was. He was deceptively small and deceptively pale, but Midorima decided he liked him better asleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was when whatever pressed itself into the lines of his face and nearly strangled him bled out. The red hair was messy and Midorima wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen it look so soft. Something reminded him that the fire had looked soft, too.

( _Is it as soft as it looks?_ a part of him asked.

 _Don’t,_ another answered. _Akashi would have your head._ )

Midorima wanted to slap them both silly because they were both _wrong,_ but he’d never seen Akashi look so much like a kid and so much closer to his actual age. It was different. It was nice.

And by the end of it, he wasn’t able to tell what the catalyst was. Maybe it was because he was tired and so sure that Akashi was a heavy sleeper. Maybe it was the sleepiness. Maybe it was because Midorima himself was thinking about how nice it would be to close his eyes and step _back_ for a moment and--

The minute he reached out to brush a piece of red hair behind an ear, Akashi’s eyes opened. Midorima could have died.

“Shintarou. Hello.” Akashi was smiling and it was and wasn’t a nice one. Akashi liked playing cat and mouse, liked baiting; Midorima didn’t exactly like falling into the trap but oftentimes he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Seijuurou. Hi,” Midorima said. The greeting was short and stunted, and about only half as awkward as Midorima felt. He shifted in his seat.

Blinking, Seijuurou tilted his head but made no effort to sit up. Midorima was quick to remind himself that it meant nothing. “Were you going to touch my hair?”

Something told Midorima that even all the luck in the world would not make the ground open up and swallow him whole, nor would it make him magically disappear. Nor would it make Akashi believe any lie he could spat out. “I might have been, yes.”

“Why?”

He could feel his face heating up. Answering the question was like walking on a tightrope and Midorima wasn’t about to look down. “It was in your face, see, and I thought it might be more comfortable if I...moved it.” It didn’t even sound convincing to himself and it took all he had to stop from cringing. Physically, at least.

Akashi laughed. It was a light sound. It was a nice sound. Midorima decided he liked it. “That’s not what I was asking.”

“No?”

“No,” Akashi agreed, sitting up. “I was asking why you didn’t.” It took Midorima a few minutes to realize Akashi had settled himself on his lap. He was so close Midorima could smell the mint on his breath.

“Depends on what the right answer is.”

Akashi smiled and his teeth looked like a cat’s. “Just go with your gut.” He leaned closer still. Midorima had forgotten how to breathe. “There’s always a chance you’ll be right, anyway.”

In the end, he’d listened because Midorima always listened and for as long as this was a game, he would lose. He didn’t like the fire and he didn’t like feeling like a moth being swallowed whole. He was still afraid of being burnt. But somewhere, beneath and against everything else Midorima had ever thought or felt, something told him it was definitely worth the plunge. He could only agree.


End file.
